


the titles we seek (and the ones we earn instead)

by LunarExo



Category: Dragon Quest XI
Genre: (slaps hendriks ass) this bad boy can fit so much guilt in him, Found Family, Gen, M/M, Nonbinary Sylvia | Sylvando (Dragon Quest XI), Post-Dragon Quest Act III, Repressed and Awkward Men Having Familial Emotions, earnest attempts at being funny, fix-it adjacent because jaspers here, semi-verbal luminary, some genuine emotion in there too though, the romantic pairings are background
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27014347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LunarExo/pseuds/LunarExo
Summary: "I called him dad,” Eleven admitted over dinner. Erik laughed so hard he fell out of his chair, and Eleven didn’t offer to help him up.Eleven slips up, and six people have a meltdown about it.
Relationships: Camus | Erik/Hero | Luminary (Dragon Quest XI), Graig | Hendrik & Hero | Luminary, Graig | Hendrik/Homer | Jasper (Dragon Quest XI)
Comments: 31
Kudos: 108





	the titles we seek (and the ones we earn instead)

**Author's Note:**

> alternative title: you're my dad (you're my dad) boogy woogy woogy

There were not often words Eleven wished he could take back. He said so few of them, and he liked to imagine each one was shaped on his tongue with the weight of thoughtfulness, worried around his mouth until it inevitably tumbled out. (In reality, it was more as if the words grew unbidden in his cheeks, bursting forth whenever he felt too comfortable, or agitated, or _exhausted_ to keep them in any longer. How many countless times now had those closest to him been victim to one of his tired rambles?)

He’d probably take back some pointlessly blunt things he’d said to Gemma as a child, and also probably a few embarrassing slip-ups over the years. Like when he’d told his mum he had a crush on the mailman, or when he’d admitted to Erik that he thought he had a cute burp, actually.

And now, he’d add _this_ to the list.

“Dad, can you pass me some water?”

The reaction had not been immediate. Hendrik had grunted his assent and handed over the water, and El had raised it to his lips and taken a healthy swig.

Then the words sank in. Hendrik let out a high, choked sound—one not dissimilar to when he’d gotten some turkey lodged in his windpipe—and El’s healthy swig found itself splattered across the ground in a fine mist.

Their eyes met. They both looked away. Hendrik pulled himself to his full height, and Eleven followed. His face felt hot, and not just from their workout.

“There is urgent business I must attend to,” Hendrik stated. There was no urgent business, and they both knew it. But Eleven still nodded stiffly, and did not glance his way until he’d already fled the room.

Yes, he thought, feeling something a little tighter than embarrassment tighten in his chest. This was something he’d take back.  
  


* * *

  


For a man so large, Hendrik did a surprisingly wonderful job of making himself scarce. It was almost funny, honestly. It’d been years now—longer still to El, in a way—but he could still remember the unrelenting effort with which Hendrik had pursued him. He’d spent so many hours on so many nights bitching the man out with Erik for his almost embarrassing tenacity to chase down a pair of teen delinquents. And yet now, he was nowhere to be seen.

There was, of course, the option to ask someone where he was, someone he had no choice but to interact with. Jade, or Jasper, or even any of the plucky faced recruits El saw so often going through their daily drills. But that would mean admitting he couldn’t find Hendrik if he _wanted to_ , and _that_ would mean admitting that Hendrik did not want to be found, and then _that_ would imply that this was a thing.

And it was _not_ a thing.

People called other people mum or dad on accident _all the time_. It wasn’t a big deal. He called Jade mum once. Sort of. Maybe. If you counted ‘sis’ as ‘mum’, and they were basically the same thing. He called Gemma ‘babe’ once, when she’d come in unannounced and he thought she was Erik, and she’d only made fun of him for three months for it! And that was an honest case of accidental mistaken identity, so, really.

It wasn’t like—He didn’t—

Well, it wasn’t as if he had many frames of reference for what a father _should be_ , but he had a feeling it wasn’t Hendrik.  
  


* * *

  


“I called him dad,” Eleven admitted over dinner. Erik laughed so hard he fell out of his chair, and Eleven didn’t offer to help him up.

  


“So,” Erik started. He was tucked against Eleven’s chest as they sat on the roof, earlier transgression forgiven. “Dad, huh?”

“I didn’t _mean it_ ,” El insisted immediately, pressing his face hard into Erik’s hair to muffle himself, “it just—it slipped out.”

“Yeah? Makes sense though. Kinda dad-like, least as much as any dad I’ve ever seen.”

“Where have you ever seen a dad?”

“What, you’ve never been to the dad parade? It’s all the rage in Sniflheim. Just dads, pouring out of every building. They get special hats.”

“M’gonna make you go sleep with mum and Mia.”

Erik let out an affronted noise, clinging tighter to the arm around his middle. Eleven snorted, giving his stomach a soothing pat. “That’s what I thought.”

They sat in silence for a bit. It was just cold enough that Eleven found himself curling into Erik’s warmth, burying his face into that thick blue hair of his. It helped ward the chill off from his nose. It also helped him feel more able to say the hard things that bubbled up behind his teeth, tucked away as he was.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself just a bit as he asked. “What does ‘dad-like’ even _mean_?”

Erik shrugged as well as he could, all folded up in Eleven’s arms. “Middle aged, tells shitty jokes, emotionally constipated. Look, I don’t have a frame of reference any more than you do, but I’ve read all those sappy books you leave lying around. Sounds like one to me. Plus, you two do all that training junk, that’s like, father-son bonding 101.”

“Well,” Eleven replied eloquently. He kicked at a stray rock, and watched it clunk its way slowly down the roof to tumble to the ground. “Doesn’t matter anyway, if he thinks it’s weird.” He coughed, “and, you know, since I don’t feel that way _anyway_.” 

  


(“Would it be disrespectful to my actual dad?”

“What, like how _disrespectful_ it is to call Amber your mum?”)  
  


* * *

  


He assuaged his anxieties with one undeniable truth: in all the years he had known Hendrik, the man had never once faltered on a promise. And, if El were to remember correctly, their bi-weekly training was _very much_ a promise.

 _I’ll see him on Thursday_ , he reminded himself, and then nodded. He’d see Hendrik, and he’d tell him he was sorry for the slip up, and really it didn’t _mean_ anything, no matter how much Erik seemed to think otherwise, and he’d very much like to keep working the way they always did, and then things would go back to normal. They’d train, and Hendrik would somehow not overheat even in those awful thick sweaters he wore, and Eleven’s arms would be sore but he’d feel just that bit stronger just in case.

(Between the two of them, there were a lot of _just in case’s_.)  
  


* * *

  


Then Thursday came, and the horse which trotted elegantly through the gates of Cobblestone was a mottled grey and white, the rider’s gold and _ivory_ armor catching on the sunlight. El grimaced, covering his eyes. He heard Erik behind him, a soft, “oh for _Yggdrasil’s sake_ ,” and when his eyes adjusted his husband was gone and Jasper stood before him, tall and proper and… Rather unhappy, honestly.

“Is—Is Hendrik okay?”

Jasper frowned. His face was tight though, and it looked almost more like a sneer. On anyone else, it’d probably look fierce. To El, he looked a bit constipated.

“He’s. Unwell. Indisposed, of a sorts.” Eleven grimaced. Jasper sighed, removing one of his riding gloves solely to drag his hand over his face. His other hand thrust itself towards Eleven, and he noticed then the thick stack of parchment clutched in it. “He requested I bring you this. A training itinerary, as I understand it.”

Eleven took the papers, flipping quickly through them. There were at least twenty there, and he realised something with mounting horror. “This—there’s at least a _year_ of routines here.”

“Yes,” Jasper confirmed. El recognized then, that the tenseness around Jasper’s face was very clearly exhaustion. “Hendrik did not sleep much last night,” he confessed, his eyes flitting away. “It was, I suppose, my fault. For asking if he would like the leftover stew for lunch tomorrow, or if your mother or husband would be feeding him.”

“…Because?”

His gaze turned sharp then, and Eleven flinched at the hushed venom in his tone. “Because _what?_ That is something I would like to know indeed.”

He calmed but a moment later, clearing his throat. “Apologies. It is not you I am upset with. But, it is rather enough to deal with one bore-headed man. We can talk over tea.”

Eleven almost felt bad for Erik when the two of them stepped into the house, _almost_. That is, if his obvious distaste for Jasper wasn’t so clearly for nothing more than for appearances’ sake. He’d bet probably at least _one_ chicken that if Jasper were falling off a cliff to his death, Erik would pull him up.

(If it were, say, only a few metres though, he probably wouldn’t bet even a piece of hay.)

“Jasper’s here for tea,” he announced, and watched as the man in question gently deposited himself onto one of their chairs. How he managed to do so in that armor of his _without_ clanging excessively around was a question for the ages, but it wasn’t one he was about to ask now. But when _Hendrik_ visited, he swore the whole of Cobblestone could hear him stomping around.

( _Ugh, Hendrik_.)

“Ugh, Hendrik.”

He slumped down in the other chair, head landing on the table with a dull thunk. Erik laughed, and as he walked by El felt the affectionate brush of a hand in his hair, and the press of a kiss to his shoulder. “Yeah, cool, guess I can make it since you’re so clearly indisposed.”

“Thank you,” he murmured. “Love you.”

“Care to inform me what our dearest knight has done?” Jasper’s voice carried across the table to him. It was soft, and inquisitive, and Eleven had the oddest feeling that he was being manipulated into speaking.

But he still looked up, feeling distinctly childish when he bemoaned, “I called him _dad_ , and now he’s hiding from me, which is _stupid_ , because I didn’t _mean it_ , and it just slipped out, and how can I apologize if I can’t even _find him_?”

“You didn’t mean it?”

“He meant it,” Erik replied, placing a tray of sugar and cream on the table between them. He kissed El’s temple this time, and left to his work just as quick.

El turned to glower at him, and turned back to see Jasper giving him a curious look. “You _do_ mean it, then. If your husband is teasing you for it.”

“No—Yes—Maybe?” El frowned, “I didn’t—I mean, I don’t _have_ a Dad, so I thought, maybe…?”

At that, Jasper glared, gaze unwielding, “and you think he’s old enough to be _your_ father?”

Erik burst into laughter from the kitchen. Jasper turned to glare at him instead, and El sputtered, waving his hands frantically in an attempt to diffuse the situation. “What— No, I, I don’t think he’s my _dad,_ obviously, I know who my actual father is, I _met him_.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’ll tell you about it later,” Erik replied, this time setting a pot of water on the table before he sat in the third chair. “More weird magic heeby jeeby shit.”

“It’s like with Jade,” El continued, his cheeks ruddy with embarrassment, “she’s not my _actual_ sister, but she’s still my _sister_.”

Jasper’s glare softened to more of an inquisitive stare, and then even further. He picked up the pot and poured himself a cup of tea, and then delicately added entirely too many sugar cubes to it. “That’s a relief,” he admitted, “and not simply because I’m not excessively keen on being the step-father to a long-lost prince, as agreeable of a young man as you are.” He sipped at his drink, and then sighed, “daft man. I’m not sure how he thinks he can play the role he does _without_ such a thing happening. Hindsight, I suppose.” And then, with finality, “you have my word, Lu— _Eleven_. I’ll speak to him tonight. If all goes well, he’ll be grovelling at your doorstep by morning.”

“I don’t want him that early,” Erik protested.

Jasper snorted, grinning just slightly. “I’ll send him with a gift basket.”

“…Alright.”

Eleven, for what it was worth, merely nodded silently, staring into his own cup of tea (that Erik had, at some point, pressed into his hands.)

They both seemed to understand he was deep in thought, at least, as he heard Erik turn his chair to face Jasper more fully, and saw his arms moving with purpose out of the corner of his eyes. “So, we’re at Dundrasil—”  
  


* * *

  


There was, in fact, a gift basket at the door the next morning. It had Erik’s favourite smoked salmon, and a lovely jar of preserves.

It had no Hendrik, and Eleven couldn’t quite believe what his life had become.

(He did not see Erik pen a quick letter once he’d put the food away, and similarly missed him slipping it to the mail carrier as they did their rounds that morning.)  
  


* * *

  


The thing about Sylvando was that, for all their grandiosity, they had every ability to pop up out of nowhere. There was not always the arrival of Sylvando, there was sometimes simply ‘Sylvando is not here,” and, ‘Sylvando is here now.’

That was how El found himself crushed into a jewel encrusted chest, breathing in the heavy smell of potpourri and ocean spray as he was spun adoringly around. “Look at you,” they crooned, “have you grown? Oh, your arms are getting so large, you’ll be able to lift the whole town at this rate!”

“Sylv—”

“And where’s Erik, darling? I can’t miss the chance to see my favourite lovebirds in the same room! You know, you two are _all_ the talk of the town back in Puerto Valor!

“ _Sylv—_ ”

“Oh, and Heliodor, and Gallopolis. The kingdom’s favourite sweethearts!”

“ _Sylvando_.”

Sylvando pushed him back by his shoulders, looking him over with a soft smile and a discerning eye. “Yes?”

“I love you,” Eleven stated. Sylvando glowed. “And I’m happy to see you,” they glowed brighter, somehow. El sighed. “Why are you _here_? I thought you had a big production to work on.”

Sylvando grinned outright, patting El’s shoulders firmly, and then pinching his cheeks. “Oh you adorable thing. I’ve always got time for my favourite little star when he’s having family issues. And what can I say? I’ve got more than enough experience with troublesome daddies—my expertise was _clearly_ needed.”

Eleven slapped a hand over Sylvando’s playful grin, shushing them furiously as he pushed them into their house. “Not—Don’t _say that in public_ , someone’s going to get the wrong idea!”

“Wrong idea about what?” Erik asked, stepping into the open doorway. There was a plate in one of his hands, and a towel in the other. When he saw Sylvando though, his gaze lit with understanding, “ah. About that.”

While he’d let himself be manhandled into the house, Sylvando escaped El’s grasp with a flourish once they were inside, rushing over to lean a conspiratorial hand on Erik’s shoulder, “speaking of daddies, has our _darling_ Luminary been giving you any grief?”

Erik scoffed, shoving at him. “Don’t ask _me_ prying questions about my marriage when you’re here for his dad issues.” For all his bravado, there was a flush painted across his cheeks, and he caught El’s eye just barely from the corner of his own. “Not that I’ve got any complaints.” Then he turned back to Sylvando, shoving a finger into the centre of their chest, “but if you ask me that again, I _will_ destroy your ship.”

 _I love him_ , El thought briefly, his heart warm and heavy in his chest. It only settled when Sylvando pressed back into his space, steering him to sit on his own sofa with a comforting click of their tongue. “Our little thief is right, darling, let us get to the real heart of the matter. And not simply due to his _excessive threats_.”

“You’d deserve it,” El said.

Sylvando gasped, hands pressed to their cheeks in a caricature of shock. “This cruelty! When I come to provide my aid!”

“I don’t think there’s much to provide,” El admitted, “he’s avoiding me. Even Jasper couldn’t get him to come visit.”

“ _Si_ ,” Sylvando confirmed with a solemn nod of his head, “Jasper would know better than anyone how this is effecting our dear Hendrik. But you know how he is. Stubborn, but very socially… Er…”

“He’s an ass,” Erik supplied for them, placing a bowl of berries on the coffee table before settling on the couch as well, as close to Eleven as he could get.

Instinctively, El wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. “He cares. I know he does. And he said he’d talk to him, so if it didn’t work…”

Erik pressed closer to him, his presence a steady comfort, and El let out a long sigh. “I don’t want to force him to see me if he doesn’t want to.”

“I see,” Sylvando murmured, “you, darling, are simply too accommodating for your own good. And regardless, if one person could not get it through that thick skull of his, then perhaps two can do the trick! In fact, I may just have the perfect idea in mind already…”

  


(“ _No_ ,” Erik gasped, but he grinned massively as he did, and the conspirational glance passed between him and Sylvando made Eleven squirm nervously in his seat.

“ _Yes_ ,” Sylvando replied, and El pressed his face into his hands with mounting dread.)  
  


* * *

  


He was used to being the one woken up by now. Erik rose with the sun, and Yggdrasil help him, El rose with Erik. But by now, he thought they’d come to an understanding. Erik would leave their shared bed—would wander around the house, relieving himself and throwing feed for the chickens and doing whatever other morning jobs he desired—and El would follow at his own pace, pulled from bed by the lack of warm body with him.

So, to be woken by a hand on his shoulder shaking him furiously was unfamiliar enough that he couldn’t even be _mad_ , too busy being confused as he blinked bleary eyes open and found Erik standing above him.

“We’re going to Heliodor,” he announced, tossing a clean shirt and pants onto El’s chest. “If you aren’t dressed in ten minutes, I’ll pour water on your head.”

It was not the romantic wakeup he’s grown familiar with, and Eleven’s pout lingered even as he dressed himself and made his way begrudgingly out of the bedroom. He was a bit surprised to see Erik already by the door, but he was also still so thoroughly half-asleep that anything but his familiar routine was weird and uncomfortable.

Erik threw him an apple. He fumbled to try and catch it, and frowned at the shape of it.

“Breakfast,” Erik supplied.

“Are… Are you mad at me?” Eleven found himself asking, turning the apple in his hand. That, at least, was enough to soften the harsh lines of Erik’s face. Enough to get him to close the distance between them, cupping El’s face and rising on his toes to kiss him long and slow.

“Just stressed,” he admitted, pulling back only enough to speak, their lips still brushing as he does, “sorry, not your fault. We’ll get proper food in Heliodor, yeah?”

“I love you,” Eleven replied in lieu of an answer, and Erik smiled charmingly at him.

He held his hand this time, the two of them leaving. They’d taken these day trips before—they weren’t odd by any means—but something about seeing the sun so low in the sky, the air still crisp with morning dew, was disorienting. He was…not a morning person.

Erik laughed, either because he knew this or because he could see that plain as day on Eleven’s face, could see in the way his nose scrunched up in offense and confusion as he stared up at the pale blue sky, down at the still damp grass, all around at the world not yet woken up, the _way he ought to have been as well_.

Erik at least had the good sense to take the reigns of their shared horse, letting Eleven settle behind him. El pressed his cheek to Erik’s back, and the smell of sleep still lingered just barely on his skin, lulling him into a peaceful trance. The journey did nothing to help—the road smooth and easy, Erik’s riding practiced and calm. Stressed, but not rushed.

He realised halfway there that he knew where they were going, but not _why_. Pliant and sleepy like this, he deigned not to ask. He trusted his partner well enough regardless.

  
He fed the horse his apple when they stopped.  
  


* * *

  


Walking through the cobble brick streets of Heliodor proper, Eleven finally found the awareness to ask, “What are we here for?”

The city woke up louder than Cobblestone. His neighbours back home woke early, but they worked efficient and went right back to bed after, the whole town cozy and safe and very fond of the joys of a morning doze. His sleepy temperament, he knew (especially after meeting Rab), was not something was born with. Heliodor felt like a shot of adrenaline in comparison, merchants and shopkeepers yelling between each other as they conducted their business, old women gossiping in packs, the whole town buzzing with people and voices and _life_. It was beautiful and exhausting, and Eleven clung tighter to Erik’s voice as he asked, hunching over to better curl into his space in search of some peace.

“Sylvando’s plan,” Erik replied. Eleven’s eyebrows rose enough he worried they’d climb right off his face.

“They said they needed to speak to Jade.”

“They did,” Erik said, that same neutral tone to his voice. “And then they came back to the house in _the middle of the night_ and started _knocking on the door_. Told me to bring you to Cobblestone before lunch tomorrow.”

“I… I didn’t hear that,” Eleven protested.

Erik at least smiled at that, more fond than annoyed as he said, “you’d sleep right through the house burning down.”

“I’m sorry. If I’d known—”

“Hey,” Erik said. He stopped them, and Eleven realised they were at the castle doors. Erik’s hands settled on his biceps, holding him steady, forcing eye-contact. Eleven saw the bags under his eyes then, properly, but he also saw the intensity of his expression. “Don’t apologize,” his hands shifted, sliding up El’s arms, his neck, settling warmly on his cheeks, “this has been hard on you. I don’t like seeing you so sad. Besides,” he smiled, and ducked forward to peck El on the lips, “you’ll just have to make it up to me.”

“Alright,” El said, “always. And thank you.”

“Anything for you.”  
  


* * *

  
Jasper was waiting for them in the castle foyer. He didn’t look as frustrated as he had before, when he’d been sitting in Eleven’s kitchen, but there were circles under his eyes that matched Erik’s, and spoke to some sort of _plan_.

He nodded briskly at Erik, who nodded right back, and the three of them headed deeper into the castle in tense silence—a silence El was suddenly deeply unwilling to break.

Even the energy in the castle seemed off. Gone was the bustling liveliness of the markets outside, here the people working are few and far between, and those he saw were brisk in their movements and shockingly quiet. Even when they nodded in familiarity at Jasper, it was only a dip of the head, the faintest bow of acknowledgement. Jasper nodded back, Erik did not, and Eleven bobbed his head with enough nervous ferocity that at least one woman raised a confused eyebrow at him.

They reached one of the doors to a private chamber, and Jasper stopped. Eleven realised this was _his_ chamber, his and Hendrik’s, and his heart beat a jackhammer rhythm in his throat. He calmed marginally when he saw Jade, but was right back to an almost frantic nervousness when he saw Sylvando behind her.

Then she saw him, and Eleven was pulled into strong arms, the familiar scent of rose and peony and _sister_ filling his nose. He hugged her back, squeezing tight, and her voice met his ears in a low whisper, “I’m so sorry, if I’d only known sooner…”

‘ _It isn’t your fault_ ,’ El wanted to say, mirroring Erik’s words. But his own caught in his throat, and he shook his head instead, squeezing her tighter just once and hoping that conveyed all he wanted to say, all he couldn’t say.

When Jade pulled away, Erik’s hand found his. He squeezed, and squeezed, gripping at his palm in time with the pounding of his heart. He loved these people. It was too many people. He felt overwhelmed. He so badly wanted what they’d promised him.

“Right, well!” Jade clapped her hands, a warm smile on her face. They all seemed warm—even Jasper, his eyes soft even as his face remained pleasantly neutral. “It took a bit of convincing, but we’ve finally managed to get Hendrik to stay in one place! Honestly, that man.”

Jasper stifled a laugh poorly behind his wrist. Sylvando didn’t even try, guffawing boldly before they turned with a flourish and disappeared behind the door.

“Jade, we have a _teensy_ problem here.”

“What? You didn’t lose him, did you? He’s not exactly a small man—”

Jade stopped in the doorway, the resonance of her heel clacking on tile the only sound for a long moment. Then she whipped around, jabbing an accusing finger at Sylvando’s chest, “you lost him!”

“How was I supposed to know he’d be able to get out of the rope!?”

“It was _you_ who said he needed an emergency release!”

“ _Si_ , but the man is more vanilla than ice cream, why would _he_ know that?”

Jade looked at Jasper, and then gestured her arms at him as if to say ‘ _have you considered this_?’. Following her gaze, Sylvando looked Jasper slowly up and down, and Jasper turned a very bold and _very telling_ shade of red. Erik put his head into his hands, groaning out, “oh for _goddesses sake_! This doesn’t help us find him!”

“Admittedly,” Jasper said, “I hadn’t thought it’d be this hard. He’s a stubborn man, but not _that_ stubborn.”

Four pairs of eyes turned to him, all sharp with disbelief.

“Have you _met_ the man?” “Jasper, how long did he wait for you?” “Have you seen the letters he used to write?” “How long did he chase after _Eleven?”_ “He still checks I’ve eaten all my broccoli, Jasper, I was _ten_ when he caught me spitting it into my skirt!”

“Alright, fine! He is an awful, stubborn, hard-headed ass of a man! But he… Cares deeply, does he not? That’s what I do not understand. He’s never _run away_. Is there something we’re missing?”

Silence fell over the room, harsh enough that even their breaths were too loud. All but Eleven, who had stood silent as they argued, whose eyes had never left that place where Hendrik must have been, must have been _tied down_ , and where he had run away from. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms.

They had to _trap him_. He hadn’t run away, he’d _escaped_.

Goddess above, of course he had. His face felt red with shame, and his stomach churned with something like nausea, and he _understood_.

Eleven did not run away either. But he left with haste, filled with nervous energy that flung him from that awful room in search of some, of _any_ peace. He let his feet carry him, and they took him up the palace steps to the second level, legs burning as he stomped his way up the carpeted staircase.

Each step drew out more of that energy, until he just felt tired. Worn down. More helpless than he could ever remember being. The stakes were absurdly lower, but he itched with childish frustration. He'd always been able to keep going forward—there was always something to seek out, or to let seek him out in turn. Something fleeing his pursuit was entirely new. That this something was a very large man trying very hard to avoid him only made it worse.

(And, sure, he could do something gloriously stupid—could climb into Hendrik's bedroom closet or sneak into the knight recruits one morning—but it felt wrong to trick him, when he'd made it so obvious he wasn't willing to indulge in games with this.)

When he turned down one of the winding hallways of Heliodor’s palace, there was someone else in the centre, walking his way. Someone tall and broad, dressed in a casual shirt and pants, his normally straight, slicked back hair a mess and rope looped around his wrists and ankles, the latter of which trailed behind him like a detached rat’s tail. It looked hilarious. It was _horrifying_.

They both froze where they were. Eleven… There’d been so much he wanted to say, and every word died in his throat. He thought Hendrik was the same way, saw even from that far the nervousness in his eyes, the slow bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

Then he turned, and when he began to (rather shamelessly) flee, Eleven lurched forward, stomping hard after him with a cry of, “stop!”

He stopped, which was good. He did not turn around, but he stopped, and Eleven closed the distance between them most of the way, his steps heavy with a purposeful weight the rest of him didn’t quite feel up to.

“Stop,” he repeated, feeling breathless. “I—”

He what? It was only now that he realised that, in all this time, he’d never quite thought through _what_ he wanted to say to Hendrik when he finally had a chance. It seemed more important to simply find him first, and he cursed himself quietly for thinking he of all people would be able to competently string together a coherent thought outside of a battle situation.

 _I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it?_ But—but he _wasn’t,_ and he _did_ , and he pushed aside any instinctive panic at that notion for later. _Why do you hate me?_ He didn’t think that, not really, and the thought of saying something so despondent made him cringe hard. _It’s not that I think you’re old, necessarily_ , which. Well, white lies were acceptable, he thought.

“You do not know what to say either,” Hendrik stated. Eleven’s eyes shot up to his, and he found he had turned around during his rumination. His shoulders were slumped, and Eleven realised he knew that body language, remembered it now from another place, another time.

(Cobblestone, filled with tents and soldiers, the fields surrounding littered with the bodies of monsters and men alike. And Hendrik, stood before him, his face hard with determination but his shoulders weak with the _guiltshameregret_ of a man who’d failed his oaths, and had delivered harsh judgement upon himself.)

He thought, perhaps, he might understand now.

“My dad died the day I was born,” Eleven said. “I was sad both times I met him, because Rab said he was a good man, and he looked kind, and he didn’t deserve that. But I never _knew him_ , and I never had anyone else like that. It’s—If what you’re afraid of is trying to live up to that, then you already have. Because _that_ never existed,” he paused, raising his chin defiantly, “and it never will.”

“And,” he added, still holding his head up, making direct eye-contact even when he _ached_ to look away, “you’re not replacing him either. He’s Irwin, my father, who sacrificed himself for his son and kingdom, and I won’t forget that, and I love him. But that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to love someone else like a dad, especially one who’s fought by me so long, and who taught me so much.”

“I love you too,” Hendrik replied, his voice gruff with such painfully _dad-like_ awkwardness that El couldn’t keep the broad grin off his face. Then he lowered himself, settling on one knee, and Eleven cringed at the formality even as he thrilled at how much he’d missed this. “I am sorry,” Hendrik said, a rope-bound hand over his heart. “For hurting you, and for fleeing. And, if you were amicable, perhaps we can continue as we were.”

“Yes!” El said, both because he meant it and because he so deeply wanted Hendrik to stop kneeling before him. And he did, thank Yggdrasil, standing at his full height once more, a smile lingering on his own face.

It fell when El followed up with, “but you have to apologize to the others too. Especially Erik and Jasper, they’ve seen too much of each other this week, it’s not healthy for them.”

He almost wanted to laugh at how exaggeratedly upset Hendrik looked, realising the consequences of his actions were far wider reaching than he’d anticipated. _Almost_. Mostly, he was just glad it was over, glad things weren’t broken, glad that when he lurched forward and hugged Hendrik around the middle he was met with two warm arms hugging him back and a reminder that he had never been truly alone.

“Erik… Might forgive you if you help me fix the roof,” he suggested, and Hendrik’s laughter shook both their forms. He smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been working on this since before quarantine started im gonna shit my FUCKING PANTS. but finally.............. it is **_DAD HOURS_**
> 
> thank u [neenee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNeehola) my dearest most precious angel for not only thinking i'm funny but also for being both my proofreader AND my editor when i was informed half my fic was in the wrong tense and proceeded to have a meltdown that wasnt at all as destructive as these idiots. i cannot stress enough how big and powerful your meat is.


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